The days following the entrance exam passed in a haze for Eryx. The initial shock of being at the Academy had settled into a quiet realization: this place wasn't just a school, it was a world unto itself. Each step he took felt heavier as the enormity of the task ahead slowly pressed down on him. Every corner of the campus seemed to hum with a sense of purpose, the kind of purpose he had never felt before. The grandeur of the place was awe-inspiring, but at the same time, it made him feel smaller than ever.
The halls of the Academy were lined with tapestries depicting mages of old—figures whose names carried weight and whose achievements shaped the very foundation of magic itself. Eryx passed these portraits each day, but they never ceased to make him feel like an outsider, a mere speck in a long line of towering figures. The Academy wasn't just a place to learn; it was a place to make history, to carve a name into the stone walls that lined these halls. But Eryx had no intention of simply passing through. He was here to stay, to prove that someone from the slums could belong in such a place.
The first few days were filled with briefings and orientations, where they were introduced to the structure of the Academy. He learned about the different departments, the magical disciplines, and the towering figures who presided over them. It was overwhelming, to say the least. Magic was broken down into schools—elemental, conjuration, illusion, divination, and more—and each was governed by its own set of rules. Even the smallest of spells had their own intricate layers, their own subtleties that Eryx could hardly fathom.
But it was the people here that made him feel most out of place.
By the third day, Eryx had begun to find his rhythm, though not without feeling the weight of scrutiny. The students he passed in the corridors moved with purpose, their expressions often stern or focused. No one wasted time here. The whispers of ambition hung thick in the air, and it wasn't long before he realized that every student had their own agenda, their own unspoken goals. His own goals were simple, though no less intense: to become the best, to control his magic beyond what he had ever dreamed possible.
But he wasn't alone in his ambition.
It was during one of his first classes, a lecture on magical theory, that he first saw Liora. She was sitting near the front, her back straight, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her hair, a cascade of auburn waves, shimmered in the soft light filtering through the high windows. There was an undeniable elegance to her, a sense of authority that surrounded her even as she simply listened.
Her gaze was sharp, scanning the room, picking out the few students who dared to speak out of turn. It was as if she had already placed everyone in the room into categories, sizing them up in ways that made Eryx feel suddenly very aware of his own presence. She wasn't looking at him directly, but when their eyes met across the room, there was a moment—brief, but unforgettable—where he felt like she had already judged him. It was a look that suggested she saw through him, as if he was just another face in a long line of people she had already decided were beneath her.
Eryx tried not to let it bother him. She wasn't the first to look at him like that. But something about her presence—her poise, her quiet power—struck him differently. The way she carried herself made it clear that she didn't need to prove anything. She was already one of the best.
After the class ended, the students shuffled out of the lecture hall, but Eryx couldn't shake the feeling that Liora was watching him. Not in an overt way, but there was something in the way she moved through the crowd, the way others stepped aside for her, that left him feeling like an intruder.
He had barely managed to exit the building when he spotted her again. She was speaking with a group of her peers, her voice light but commanding. It was as if every word she spoke had been calculated for maximum impact. Eryx overheard snippets of conversation—some about her latest accomplishments, others about how she had been selected for certain prestigious assignments. There was no humility in her tone, no attempt to downplay her abilities. She knew who she was, and she wasn't afraid to let everyone else know.
As the group began to disperse, Eryx found himself caught in the slipstream of her presence. She was heading toward one of the grand dormitory buildings, her footsteps measured, deliberate. For a moment, he considered approaching her, perhaps to introduce himself, but the thought quickly faded. He had no interest in being another name on her list of people to impress. His focus was elsewhere.
But before he could turn away, she glanced over her shoulder, her eyes locking onto his. This time, there was no judgment in her gaze, only a cool recognition. She studied him for a long moment, and then—almost imperceptibly—she nodded, a gesture that could have meant nothing, but Eryx felt its weight.
That night, as Eryx lay in his bed, his mind wandered back to Liora's eyes. There was something unsettling about the way she had looked at him—something that made him wonder if he had already become a pawn in some unspoken game.
The next few days passed slowly. Classes continued, each more challenging than the last. But there was something else in the air now. A feeling of competition that Eryx hadn't quite anticipated. The Academy wasn't just about learning magic; it was about proving who was worthy to be there. And as he passed students in the corridors, he began to notice the subtle exchanges—the way some eyes followed him just a little too long, how some students would whisper as he walked by.
It was during one of these encounters that Eryx met Alaric.
He was sitting by himself in one of the Academy's many gardens, a small notebook in his hand. His unruly black hair fell over his brow, and he was scribbling furiously, his expression intense. When Eryx approached, Alaric didn't immediately acknowledge him, too absorbed in whatever he was writing. It wasn't until Eryx was right next to him that Alaric finally looked up, his eyes sharp and calculating.
"You're the one who impressed the professors with that fireball trick, right?" Alaric asked, his voice casual but edged with something else—curiosity, perhaps, or the faintest trace of rivalry.
Eryx nodded, unsure of how to respond. He wasn't used to being acknowledged by someone like Alaric. His disheveled appearance, his casual demeanor—it was the opposite of what Eryx had expected from someone in the Academy. But there was an undeniable energy about him, a kind of restlessness that made Eryx wonder if Alaric was more than he appeared.
"I don't know about impressive," Eryx said slowly, "but I do what I can."
Alaric grinned. "Well, keep doing it. You're going to need every bit of that fire when things really start heating up around here."
With that, he turned back to his notebook, dismissing Eryx with the casual ease of someone who had no intention of becoming friendly—but who certainly wasn't about to ignore him, either.
As Eryx walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling that Alaric was sizing him up, trying to figure out exactly who he was. The rivalry was already there, even if neither of them had said it outright.
In the coming weeks, Eryx would come to realize that the Academy was more than just a place to learn—it was a place where every interaction was a potential challenge, and every glance could carry the weight of a future rivalry. But he wasn't ready to be swept up in that world just yet. For now, his focus remained on one thing only: survival.